


because of me

by castielanderson



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Alcohol, M/M, Reaction to 2.02, Suicidal Thoughts, discussion of canon suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-24 22:05:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4937074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castielanderson/pseuds/castielanderson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Oliver tells Connor how he contracted HIV, Connor goes to Michaela for support, with a pit stop in between.</p>
            </blockquote>





	because of me

**Author's Note:**

> You know, I try and I try and I try not to write angst, especially involving suicidal ideation, but when a character speaks to me, I can't help myself. Maybe someday I won't project onto my favorite characters.

The bath is drawn, warm and bubbly.  The whole apartment smells like lavender, and the exhaustion in Michaela's bones are drawing her nearer and nearer to collapse.  She's been looking forward to this all day.  All she has to do is light the candles, shut off the lights, and she'll be ready to soak all the stress away.  She's just shimmied out of her silk robe when someone knocks at the front door.  It's eleven at night.  Who the hell -

"Michaela!  Michaelaaaaaaa!"

She could just about strangle him.  Hurriedly throwing her robe back on, she rushes out to her entryway.  Somehow she manages to tie her belt in a perfect bow mere milliseconds before reaching the door.  The moment she turns the knob, Connor comes tripping through the doorway, nearly knocking her over in the process.

"Connor, what the hell?  We have class at eight tomorrow - why are you here?"

He nearly stumbles himself right into the floor, but catches himself by shoving his hand into the carpet.  "Yeah, I - I probably won't be there.  I'm slightly - indecent."

Anger dripping away, Michaela turns her head to get a good look at him.  "Shit," she mutters.  "You're fucking wasted."

Connor huffs a laugh.  "No shit."  Struggling to balance, Connor pulls himself back up and sways.  "You have a couch, or something?"

She sighs heavily and grabs his arm a little too roughly.  "Connor, does Oliver know you're here?  More importantly, does he know how drunk you are right now, on a Tuesday night, when you have torts in the morning?"

"Uh - " he collapses onto the couch he's just bumped into and sighs.  "I told him I was coming here to study.  I didn't mention I planned to get drunk first."  He hums.  "I can't believe he actually let me go after all of that.  He probably thinks I went to - get high or something."

Michaela rubs a hand over her face.  "Alright, what happened?" she asks, sitting down next to him.  He's almost falling off the couch, back where his ass should be and chin tucked into his chest.  "Okay, sit up," she says, and grabs under his arms to hoist him up.

He groans, loud, as she moves him. 

"Michaela?" he asks, and his voice is suddenly much too soft, too vulnerable.  "Have you ever wanted to just go to sleep and never have to wake up?"

She feels her eyebrows knit together with worry, and something swells in her throat, making it hard to breathe.  "Connor . . . "

"It's my fault," he whispers, and his eyes are wet.  "It's my fault, and I don't know how to live with that."

Without realizing what she's doing, she lays a gentle hand on his knee.  "What's your fault?"

Connor winces, squeezing his eyes shut tight for a moment.  He swallows hard several times, like he's scared he's going to throw up.  And he might, considering how much alcohol he's clearly ingested.

"It's my fault Oliver contracted HIV."

Michaela's stomach drops.  "I thought you were negative - "

"No, no," Connor interrupts.  "I am, but - but after - after I cheated on him, Oliver got reckless and had drunken, unprotected sex with a guy whose face he can't even remember.  I made him feel so much pain that he had to go out and hurt himself in the worst way."

"Connor - ," Michaela scolds.  Her hand squeezes his thigh.  "You can't believe that."

The tears running down his face clearly indicate otherwise.  Connor laughs something painful.  "The worst part is I'm the real slut.  I'm the guy that goes out and uses unprotected sex to make himself feel better.  Oliver does this with one guy, but I've fucked so many guys while drunk and upset that I've lost count.  He's got one face he can't remember, and I've got over a hundred. How does it make any fucking sense that he's the one who tests positive?  One bad decision that was made because of me and his entire life is ruined."

"Connor, his life isn't ruined.  He just has to - "

"Oh, wait," Connor says, with false excitement dripping in acid.  "I ruined two lives with that mistake.  I forgot."

Michaela opens her mouth, but can't even get a word in edgewise as Connor throws himself off the couch, stumbling to his feet.

"Ha - Paxton killed himself!" Connor all but shouts.  "I slept with a guy, exposed him, and then he killed himself.  And he wasn't even the one at fault.  He just - he wanted to feel like he was worth something.  And so did Oliver.  And I made him feel like nothing.  Wow," he sighs and rubs his hands across his mouth.

He looks up at Michaela with pink, swollen eyes.  "Is that really who I am?  Am I someone who gets off making other people feel like shit?  Putting them in so much pain that they just throw their lives away?"

Michaela's on her feet in a second, crossing the room and reaching out for him.  "No, Connor - no, you're not.  You're the only person who made me feel better about myself after Aiden broke off the engagement."

Connor scoffs, walking away from her. "But first I had to make it seem like you weren't even good enough for him."  He slaps a hand angrily into his eye and smears his palm back off of his face.  "There's another thing.  It's my fault you guys started fighting like that.  I made you both doubt your relationship _and_ I outed him.  Michaela, what the fuck is wrong with me?"

"Connor," she says firmly, and throws a hand out to catch him by the elbow.  "Stop this, Connor," she says.  "Please, just - stop."

He does.  He plants his feet firmly on the floor and hangs his head slightly.  Eyebrows pulled together and mouth trembling, he looks at her with an anguish she's never seen in him.  His eyes are so lost, so empty and dull without their usual sparkle.

Slowly, she attempts to wrap her arms around him, to hug him.  If someone would have told her three months ago that she'd be on the verge of tears trying to comfort Connor Walsh, she would have laughed in their face.  But now she's desperate.  Connor is the only person in this mess whom she trusts, and the only person she generally likes.  She can't stand to see him like this.  She can't stand to see the harsh and horrible way he's hating on himself right now.  It's not who he is.  Is it?

He doesn't move when she hugs him.  He stays utterly still until she pulls away.

She makes to go sit back down, but stops when he doesn't follow her.

"Connor?"

"Sometimes - sometimes I - "  But he stops, mouth still hanging open.

"What, Connor?"

He takes a deep breath.  "Sometimes I think about how easy it would be to drink myself to death.  I could throw in some painkillers, some Adderall."

Michaela feels her blood run cold, and she knows she should say something - anything, but she can't.  Connor Walsh.  _Connor fucking Walsh_ is standing in her living room telling her that he thinks about killing himself, and she can't make a sound.  This is something she never saw coming, and she has no fucking idea how to handle it.

"I think it would be good," Connor continues.  "Good for everyone else, I mean.  I - I ruin people."

"You haven't ruined me," Michaela argues, and it sounds stupid as it comes out of her mouth.

Connor laughs again, but it's so pitiful and devoid of humor.  "I ruined your engagement.  That's a pretty good start."

When she doesn't say anything, he begins dragging himself toward the door, eyes fluttering and limbs unbalanced.  "I guess I'll see you whenever."

She darts after him and grabs him by the shoulder.  "No, no, no, no - you're not going anywhere.  You're dead on your feet and half asleep."

"But Oliver - "

"Is probably asleep.  You can call him in the morning and apologize.  Tell him we accidentally fell asleep."  She starts leading him to her room, to her bed.

"Think he'll believe that?"

"You're a law student.  It's not that far-fetched."

"True," he mumbles. 

She tries to pull back the covers for him, but as soon as Connor recognizes that they've reached a bed, he collapses into it and falls asleep almost instantly.  With him safe and passed out, Michaela returns to the bathroom to grab her phone.  Fingers shaking, she dials Oliver's number.

He doesn't pick up, but she's grateful, because she really had no idea how she would have handled this conversation.  Instead, she leaves a message.

"Hi, Oliver - this is Michaela.  Um - I don't know how to say this, but - Connor lied to you.  Don't be hard on him.  He's really broken up over whatever you guys talked about tonight, and he made it clear he needed some headspace and didn't want to hurt you anymore.  Um - especially because he got drunk before he came here.  He's - he's asleep now, and I don't expect him to wake up for classes tomorrow, so I'll leave the door open when I leave.  You can come over and pick him up."  She takes a deep breath, silent for a long moment.  "Please, look out for him, Oliver.  I'm worried about him.  I don't know how much of what he said to me was because of the alcohol, but - I'm really worried.  You need to get him to talk to you, because I don't think I can say much more.  Just - yeah.  Please, take care of him."

She hangs up the phone, and as soon as she does, begins to let herself cry.


End file.
